Black Horses for the King

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Safe? When we lost the foal…” I began, conscience-stricken.

  “Galwyn”-and Bericus put his hand on my shoulder to stem my denial-“he has no idea, has he, Bwlch”- and he grinned at the other Companion-“how well he did to bring so many safely ashore? No, lad, to lose only one is well indeed. Even Prince Cador was amazed at our good fortune. And envious of our fine herd!”

  “As well he should be,” Bwlch said, and then we all bustled down to the inn, where rough trestle tables had been set up with a fine meal upon them, roast suckling pig and three capons, as well as mounds of vegetables and loaves of bread.

  “Eat hearty, Galwyn,” Bericus urged. “Travel food is not such as this, and we’ve a long journey to Deva.”

  I followed his advice and gorged myself until I thought I would burst. I did not, however, eat until my stomach overflowed, as did Decius Gallicanus and the sour-faced Cornovian Egdyl the White; I knew this was the custom at feasts, a remnant of Roman habits.

  The two beakers of well-watered wine that Bericus fixed for me probably accounted for the reason I was able to sleep not three hours after rising from a daylong rest. Cheerfully he advised me to sleep as deeply as I could, for I’d be camping out from tomorrow on.

  CAMPING OUT WOULD HAVE BEEN no problem to me, had it not been for the attitude of Iswy, Decius, and Egdyl. Very quickly they made it obvious to me that I was

  merely a horse boy now, and the lowest of that lowly rank.

  “Here, you boy,” Iswy said as if he were my superior. “Shovel up these droppings.”

  “He can help me carry water to the footsore,” Decius spoke up, probably thinking that as the older man, he had a better right to dispose of my time.

  I shrugged. I was quite willing to do either task, and I looked for guidance from Canyd.

  “Give him one job or t’other,” Canyd said. “Tho’ it’s your horse who made the pile, Iswy,” he added, and dismissed me to assist Decius.

  Their attitude became even harsher on those days when Bericus took me to help him with errands, as if I weren’t working just as hard with the Companion as I would have under Canyd’s orders. At that, I would have much rather stayed on in the camp to watch Ganyd’s way with horses-for he was uncanny. Every single horse, Cornix included, would come when he called. He would stand by his bucket of lotion and they would approach, waiting patiently while he examined them daily, from poll to tail. And all that after each groom had already checked his charge at morning feed.

  The droppings of the newest ones were very loose after they began to graze. Of course, at this time of year grass had not the nutritive value of, say, the first vernal growth, but it was juicier than the dry hay that we supplied them at night. Canyd inspected each pile in the field, checking for worms, the remedy for which was a clove of garlic mashed into their crushed oats.

  “It’s the new grass, the new water, as upsets their innards,” Canyd told me. “So far they’ve all come around, even the mares in foal. I’d some worry for them, making such a wild trip an’ all. But they be sturdy. Their feet are good, too.”

  “Feet?” I exclaimed, since the conformation of the animals was most notable in their deep chests and barrels, the bones of their legs.

  “No foot, no horse,” Canyd said.

  I confess that I stared for a moment at the man, suddenly recalling Lord Artos using the same words. So here was the man who wanted to put an iron rim on horses’ feet. I knew, of course, that it was necessary to be sure no stones or thorns were stuck in the frog of the foot, and I’d carved myself a little prod for just that purpose. But a sandal of iron for a horse?

  “‘Tis not just stones y’kin worry about wi’ fine horses.” He beckoned me to the nearest mare and pointed at her long hoof. “See?”

  I tried to see what he was pointing out to me but did not until he tapped on and traced with a gnarled fingertip a slight ridge on her horny hoof. “That’s a growth ring. She had a bad year then but it’s growing out. We’ll see that none other grows in.”

  I stored that bit of knowledge away, as I was storing practically every word Canyd said. If I was to be of use to Conies Artos, I had to learn all I could about the care of his Libyan horses.

  WHILE THE LATEST ARRIVALS were getting their land legs and accustoming their stomachs to the good British grass, there was much to do in preparation for the journey.

  Bericus patronized merchants in both the village and the larger town near the old Roman fort, established at the first ford of the River Exe, well beyond its navigable reaches. Bericus had the use of one of Prince Cador’s horses, and I rode Spadix on the outward journeys, though the pony was often laden with supplies on the way back, with me walking at his head.

  Bericus knew a great deal more about provisioning a long land journey than I did, though I had helped my uncle bargain for ship’s food in many Gallic ports. Bericus was also a soldier, so it was legion fare for which he haggled with his chain of gold rings. We would be eating wheat spelt, which was cheap and in good quantity at this time of the autumn.

  I noticed that Bericus was most particular about the oats he bought for the horses, running his hands through the sacks to check the dustiness of the grain. Too much dust, and a horse could develop a bad cough. He demanded the best of the tanners’ wares, too, for we had to be sure the halters were sturdy enough to control our charges. Each of us would ride one and lead one, with pack ponies for our provisions.

  Then, knowing that I stood up in all my possessions, Bericus found an oiled cape and a thick woolen tunic for me. Gone were the days when I worried about the fall of my tunic or what color to dye my sandal straps. The leggings and sandals that I had bought for myself in Burtigala showed few signs of wear yet, so I thought myself well provided for. I did use a quarter of the second ring Tegidus had given me to pay a carter who was traveling to where my mother and my two sisters were living, near the fort at Ide, to carry a letter to reassure them. I had no illusions about my uncle’s kindness. Out of spite, he was as likely to tell them that I had drowned at sea as he was to admit that I had bettered myself in the entourage of Lord Artos.

  While these forays gave me a respite from Iswy’s snide remarks and Decius’s notion that I should help him with his share of the chores, I had also to deal on my return with the envy such excursions caused. Egdyl then began to order me about, too.

  “The fire needs tending, boy,” Egdyl said when I had just settled myself at the hearth for an evening meal the others were already eating. “Lively, now.”

  The man had exactly my uncle’s manner and I could feel myself resisting.

  “You can reach a log from where you sit, Egdyl,” Canyd said, and motioned for me to stay seated. He handed me my bowl of soup and a bannock of blaanda bread.

  Ignoring me completely, Egdyl, Decius, and Iswy talked about friends at Prince Cador’s farms, frequently lapsing into Celtic. I may have been taught to speak a purer Latin than they, but I could follow the Celtic as easily, though I acted as if I could not. Once or twice, Iswy would mockingly slip in a phrase I customarily used. He had also taken to mimicking me, echoing the words I’d used in questions to Canyd.

  My father had always taught me to bide my time instead of making abrupt judgments of either men or horses. The months with my uncle had taught me other lessons: how to survive as the lowliest of the crew, and how to recognize bullies. The long happy weeks with Lord Artos had sufficiently restored my self-esteem so that I would not, could not, return to the wretched, bullied existence I had endured on the Corellia and be the butt of jokes and the recipient of spite. I had no idea how I might reverse Iswy’s opinion of me-if, indeed, I could-but it was obvious that I would suffer his unfriendly attentions the entire way to Deva. That did not suit me. But I had to be careful how I called him to task, or I would suffer the loss of Bericus’s kind interest.

  The others who made up the twenty-man escort of the black Libyan horses were the sort who would get on with any job of work that was set them: Five w
ere soldiers of Conies Artos’s legion and chosen for their skill in horsemanship. Six had been lent by Prince Cador for the same reason. Canyd Bawn was the Comes’s man and had come down from Deva especially to help the fine new steeds travel. He had brought with him three men. They were not unfriendly but they sat somewhat apart from the other two groups, who were more apt to mingle than the Devans. I was neither fish nor fowl: not high enough in rank to intrude on the Companions, nor naturally included with any of the others.

  However, I came to the conclusion that it was Canyd whose goodwill I needed most. Gaming his respect would mean strict attention to his orders about the care of the horses. He was not the sort who bantered with others around the campfire, where he, like I did for another reason, listened intently without comment.

  By the end of the first week, Bericus was eager to start the journey, but he had to wait until Canyd would allow the horses to proceed.

  “They’re fine animals, sir,” Canyd said, cocking his head. “But that mare, now, she’s a touch colicky with the strange grass scratching her belly. I wouldn’t want to start the journey with her liable to come down. Wouldn’t do for her to tie up her guts …”

  “But when they’re colicky, you walk them. Why not walk them out on the journey?” Bericus asked.

  “It’s not only the lass I worry about, sir, but yon stallion-Victor, you call him. He hasn’t settled to his food and nothing pleases him. No condition back on his bones yet, and that’s not good for a long journey either, not when we’ll be changing grass and water holes every night. It’s a long way to Deva from here.”

  “We can take hay from here and feed him that on the road,” Bericus suggested.

  Canyd raised one gnarled finger in warning. “As well to wait a day or two more and see him settled than go through all that rigamarole.”

  “It’ll be a long-enough journey, and the weather none too clement this time of the year…”

  “True, true,” Canyd said, nodding affably. “A day or two more is all.”

  Bericus sighed but was obviously bound by Canyd’s advice. Then he cast me a significant look, nodding toward Spadix, and when it occurred to me that this was Sunday, I understood. We mounted, and some distance farther on the road were joined by Bwlch, also on his way to the little church in Isca. There, I am sure, all our prayers were to have a safe journey-soon!

  If, on my return, I caught snide looks and remarks, I had retained sufficient joy from the mass to ignore them. I would have thought that some of Cador’s men were Christian, for there were many monasteries in Cordovici, though I remembered some talk around the campfires about how many had divorced themselves from Roman ways when the legions had not come to our assistance.

  WE PREPARED TO DEPART two days later, at dawn, gathering for the last time around the fire, our gear all tied and ready. Bericus unfolded a parchment map, tilted it toward the light, and glanced at me, for he knew that I had been taught to read. By such an action, sadly, he left me open to more jibes by those who could not.

  “There are forts and villas along this road where we will be welcome,” he said, one finger pointing the direction we would take. “We will not always have to sleep out, but always”-and he paused, looking around at everyone-“always the safety of the horses is the first priority. We have over three hundred millepassus to go, and Lord Artos has allowed three weeks to accomplish the journey, barring accidents.” Again he gave a keen glance of his pale eyes around the circle. “We will have no accidents.” The response was hearty from most of his listeners, though I caught Iswy’s sly look and the skeptical one that Gallicanus gave Egdyl. The three men from Deva-Nestor, Yayin, and Donan-looked far more optimistic, but they knew the road, having just traveled it to Isca.

  The journey to Deva would certainly be less dangerous than our way from Burtigala to Septimania down the wide Garuma Valley, for we would be among our own people, people who had good reason to wish Lord Artos’s project to succeed. That, I was sure, did not quite keep Bericus from worrying about those who would like to acquire such fine animals for their own.

  “Now, I will assign you your mount and your lead for the first day. We may shuffle these assignments about”- and here he grinned-“as we discover each other’s capabilities. The mares with foals afoot are to be led, and so is that black demon of a stallion Lord Artos is so fond of.” Bericus’s grin broadened. He shot an amused glance at those who had been favored by the stallion’s fractious manners. Only Canyd had been able to do much with him. Now Bericus turned to me. “Galwyn, you’ll lead Cornix from your pony, for I’ve seen him trot as placid as a mare in Spadix’s company.”

  Once again, and without meaning to, Bericus had made me the butt of envy-though, at that moment, I could feel my chest swell with pride to be given such a position of trust. I glanced at Iswy, whose black look made me shudder. There were murmurs of surprise. Difficult as the stallion was, it was still considered an honor to attend the beast.

  “Galwyn led him often enough on our journey from Septimania when the Comes did not ride him,” Bericus went on by way of explanation.

  “And what if the beast smells a mare in season on the road?” Decius Gallicanus asked. “Is the boy strong enough to hold him?”

  Bericus grinned back. “No man is strong enough to hold that fellow when he wants to do otherwise. Even Comes Artos had his hands full.”

  “I’ve a bit he will respect,” said Canyd Bawn, in his reedy voice. “Not that any man would object to having his mare served by such like,” he added with an amused snort. He winked at me. “Lad, I’ll show you how a yank or two will change the mind of that diabolus about pulling away from you.”

  I was more than grateful for such consideration, and heaved a sigh. Leading the black stallion would be hazardous, but with Spadix’s calming influence, I was reasonably confident I could manage him.

  I only half listened to the other assignments. “We pull out at dawn,” Bericus said in conclusion, and dismissed us to our duties.

  AT DAWN, A CHILLY AUTUMNAL rain began, which augured ill for the journey and made me doubly grateful for the oiled cloth cloak. I could also have used one of the broad hats that Prince Cador’s men had, to prevent the ram from trickling down the collar and my neck. The rain had a dampening effect on Cornix, who plodded along beside Spadix as meek as a sheep. I had no need to use the heavy metal bit that Canyd had managed to set between his jaws. It was a wicked-looking thing to my eyes, with a jaw-breaking gag and a port that would bear up against the roof of his mouth-if I jerked hard enough on the lead rope-to give him something painful to think about. I got so I hated to force that atrocity into his mouth.

  We proceeded at a pace that even Victor could manage. Our passage churned the eastern road out of Isca into a thick mud that forced us to go at a slow walk. We’d not cover many stadia in such treacherous going at that pace. I was thoroughly miserable, and my thighs were rubbed raw by the wet pad on Spadix’s back.

  “Perhaps the going will get better,” Nestor remarked when we paused for Bericus to pry clay and stones out of the off-front foot of the stallion he was riding. ‘“Specially when we reach the old paved road.” He paused. “I doubt we’ll get there tomorrow. It’s some eighteen mille passus beyond Isca. After that, it’s north toward Lindinis, and we’ll have good road all the way from Lindinis to Aqua Sulis.”

  I’d heard of Aqua Sulis, a big fortified town, from the traders who stopped at my father’s villa. It had been a Legion fortress and was supposed still to have hot baths, which the Romans had deemed essential to a proper lifestyle. There had been many fine villas nearby. I wondered if we’d be lucky enough to pass a night at one. And if, considering how I would be taunted by Iswy, I’d have the courage to take a hot bath, were one offered.

  We plodded onward until the winter’s early dusk caught us, far from the first stopping point on Bericus’s map. So we camped in a dense copse of trees, near a small stream. There each of us had to wash the legs of our mounts and, under the scrut
iny of Canyd, check for tendons strained by the muddy going and be certain the hooves were clear of any pebbles that might cause lameness. One or two of the mares seemed to have a little heat in their legs, so Canyd brought out his arnica lotion, which could reduce swelling and heat.

  One of the three men from Deva-Nestor, a thin little man with bowed legs-was also the cook. He carried enough dry wood in one of his many bundles to heat the thin vinegary wine that legionnaires drank, but we ate our pease porridge cold. I found that dish quite tasty, though the others grumbled. Then we rolled up in our blankets and got such sleep as the conditions allowed. I think I did better than most, having got accustomed to sleeping on the stormy decks of cold ships. I had also reacquired land legs and the ground under me no longer had even the slightest rocking motion.

  More pease porridge in the morning, but there’d be rabbit for dinner. Nestor had laid snares the night before, having seen signs of rabbit, and his traps had caught four. Not to be outdone, Iswy brought down five plump pigeons with his sling during the morning. He was incredibly accurate, and he took every opportunity to show off his prowess, even shooting down small birds that had no value for the pot at all.

  Though we had other rainy days, we never ate cold food in the evening again. The rivalry between the different groups over supplying the kettle became a matter of honor. As the youngest member, I didn’t get the choicer bits, but I wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of hearing me complain. Occasionally, I was also able to contribute. One evening, I gathered apples from a deserted orchard we passed. And another day, I found cress by a fast-moving stream and nuts windlost from walnut trees.

  Whenever we passed a stretch of water that was banked by willows, Canyd insisted that we pause long enough to strip bark from the saplings.

  ” ‘Tis hard enough to come by when it’s needed,” he said. “The trees be soon asleep, so this is the last chance this year.” Carefully he rolled the bark into a wallet he kept for that purpose. “Grand for fevers, it is. Sovereign remedy for aches and pains.”